


Ladies Always Get Their Way

by purpleann



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Cock Worship, Dubious Consent, F/M, Future Fic, Infidelity, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleann/pseuds/purpleann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor insists on denying Sansa the one thing she wants most, and tonight she is tired of him telling her no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ladies Always Get Their Way

**Author's Note:**

> Sansa is a grown woman here, and married to the Lord/Lordling which suits your head-canon best. Inspired by a kink meme prompt over at Robellion, and originally written for a fanwork contest at the SanxSan community on LJ.

It was in the deepest dark of night that Sansa crept into the small chamber where he slept.  She stripped off her clothes quickly, and walked silently to his bed, her skin already tingling in anticipation of being warmed by his. She carefully lifted the blankets and frowned to see that he still wore his breeches, though he had, at least, stripped to the waist. Nevertheless, she curled up against his broad, scarred back, completely naked, waiting for him to awaken.

As much as she loved everything they did together, this was one of her favorite moments: curled up with him while he slept, peaceful and without worry, the heat of his much bigger body engulfing her and keeping her warm and safe. She sighed deeply and slipped her small hand over his waist to rub her fingers lightly against the tight, hard muscles of his stomach.

He twitched a bit, and groaned; and Sansa felt as well as heard it, rumbling deep inside him, making her nipples harden against his back. He slowly rolled over on his back, moving his arm to gather her up and deposit her onto his chest.

His eyes remained closed, but his hands found her long, auburn hair and gathered it to his face, where he took a long, deep breath. He was always smelling her hair. He said it smelled of summer.

“Little bird...I thought you had no use for your dog tonight. I thought...you wanted to be the proper lord and lady with your handsome husband tonight.” As always, his voice was low and scratchy, like steel scraping on stone, but there was an element of sadness, of hopelessness there tonight. The words tumbled out slowly and haltingly; he had obviously had more to drink than usual.

Sansa wondered briefly if she had perhaps teased him overmuch during the feast that night, fussing over her husband and flirting with the other lords, all while refusing to look his way.

Still his eyes were closed, and Sansa wanted him to look at her, and to touch her body the way he was caressing her hair.  She squirmed against him, smiling slightly when he let out small sounds that sounded like whimpers, and pulled herself up to his ruined ear.

“ _You_ are the only lord for Lady Sansa...”  here, she paused to lick and suck at his neck below his burned ear, and then continued to whisper to him: “...and she has need for you _every_ night, my lord.” He whimpered some more, and let out another deep groan as his hands left her head and trailed down her back, feeling her bare skin. His eyes opened slowly as he realized she was completely naked under the covers with him.

“Little bird...?”

He honestly seemed confused, as if she had never been curled against him in the nude before. He must have convinced himself as he sunk into this drunken stupor that she was angry with him, and would punish him by withholding her attentions. Sansa smiled inwardly, thinking how far this was from the truth. Still, it pleased her how slowly his thoughts and his hands were moving due to his indulgence in her husband's finest wine...hopefully he would forget to stop himself tonight.

She looked deep into his dark, sad eyes, and leaned in to touch her lips to his. “Kiss me, Sandor. Make me forget everyone but you.” She whispered the words against his lips, and gripped his shoulders in anticipation of him flipping her onto her back, like he always did when she used his given name. Sansa loved to call him “my lord,” even though he didn't really like it. It wasn't as bad as _ser_ in his book, although lords weren't worth much more than knights to him. When Sansa told him she liked to pretend he was her lord husband, he let her do it without complaint. But he really wanted her to call him _Sandor_. Even though he never said so aloud, she knew it by how he reacted whenever she said his name.  

As expected, he flipped her over quickly and was kissing her in an instant. Hard, deep, insistent kisses that made Sansa's heart beat heavily in her chest, and her skin flush with anticipation. He was never rough with her, but she loved how she could still feel his incredible strength in every touch. No one had ever touched her with such gentle power. No other kiss ever made her feel this way. Every other man who had ever kissed Sansa left her with some degree of displeasure...loathing, disgust, fear...indifference in the case of her lord husband. But his kisses were the kind that surely inspired the singers. They made her feel dizzy with want and warm all over. They somehow relaxed her whole being into ultimate peacefulness, as well as filled her body with an electrified tension.

She couldn't resist touching him while he kissed her – caressing his face, or fingering his hair. Her hands slid slowly over the hulking muscles of his shoulders and back, and her legs fell open to cradle his hips, and still he devoured her mouth with his own.

Finally he tore his lips away, only to possessively kiss and suck on her neck. Sansa gasped and desperately tried to catch her breath, while her eyes rolled back into her head as she felt his rough hands on her breasts, and his hot breath against her sensitive skin.

He chanted his little pet name for her over and over again, as he ran his mouth all over her neck and collarbone, slowly making his way down to her nipples, which were tightening almost painfully in anticipation.

“Little bird...little bird...want you so much. Want you –  so, so much...can't...you're too beautiful, little bird...too much.”

His lips trailed down further, until finally he curled his tongue around her nipple, and sucked on it hard. Sansa let out a muffled scream and arched her back, pushing her breasts closer to him. Her hands flew to his head, one hand tangled in his hair to keep him in place, the other gently caressing the burnt side of his face.

“I am yours, my lord. You can have me...you can have me completely,” she panted, not releasing his hair as he moved to her other breast. Her voice was quiet and breathy, but it seemed to echo in the silence and dark of the chamber. “I am completely yours, my lord...” she repeated. “I belong to you, Sandor, only to you.”

Sansa couldn't believe how close to climaxing she was from only his touch and his kisses. But she had been fantasizing about this night for a long while, and it finally seemed like he would not pull away from her.

He may be moving and speaking slower than usual, but the wine did not hinder him in any other way. His grip on her waist was like steel, and Sansa knew she would have bruises tomorrow morning, ones that would make her stare down her chambermaid, daring her to comment or even to silently acknowledge them.

She could feel him against her thigh, absolutely rock hard, and the thought of finally getting to touch him tonight, to see, feel, and taste his manhood, to feel him inside her, finally filling her up as she has wanted for so long, made her whimper out loud. She felt the heat gather between her legs, and a gush of wetness against her thighs, and shamelessly ground her crotch against him. He groaned along with her, but did not tear his mouth away from her breasts, nor his hands from her small waist. Best of all, he did not push her away.

Sansa gasped as her orgasm approached, and tried to slip her hand between them to cup him through his breeches. She longed to slide her hand below the waistband...to unlace the offensive piece of clothing that kept the one part of him he concealed away from her. He always told her that he was hers in every way, yet this he continued to deny her.

Sandor was drunk; on strong wine and on lust for his little bird, but still, he dimly felt her small hand inching towards a place he couldn't let her go. Why she let him touch her and slobber over her at all, he would never know, but he couldn't allow her this.

Although he had dreamt of fucking Sansa Stark in his deepest and darkest dreams for as long as he could remember, he knew actually doing it, actually defiling his little bird would be the worst deed of his miserable life, the most wretched act in a lifetime of horrors. He was sure the shame of it would kill him, and the guilt would keep him from enjoying it, even as having her was his most darkly treasured fantasy.

He knew it didn't make any sense. She was no innocent maiden anymore, she was a married lady who had endured the attentions of her husband as well as other men … as she was required, to keep herself safe, for her own survival. And although she continued to insist that she wanted it, wanted him, he couldn't believe it. She was too perfect and he was just a dog, her loyal dog, yes, but still a dog, no matter how fond she was of him. He couldn't count himself with those men who took her innocence from her. He wanted so very badly to do this one thing right in his whole life, and it was so bloody hard! It was the hardest thing he'd ever done; harder than letting go of his festering hatred for Gregor, harder than facing death, than facing fire. By the seven bloody hells, it was damn near impossible, with her looking like an angel, smelling like heaven, and soft and warm against him, naked as her name day.

Her little hand was there on his stomach, her fingertips only inches from the waistband of his breeches. He absolutely ached for her; his cock was painfully hard and straining against the laces of his pants. He wanted nothing more than to let her slip her tiny hands under there and let her take them off; to finally be naked next to her; to finally bury himself deep inside her.

Through the haze of wine and lust, he knew he couldn't let it happen, no matter how much he wanted it. With an enormous effort, he pulled himself away from her completely, moving backwards until he stood at the foot of the bed, looking down on her and panting, trying to catch his breath, and trying to ignore the tightness in his pants.

She was just so beautiful. Long, autumn-colored hair strewn across the bed covers, perfect skin flushed and glowing with a thin sheen of perspiration. Her lips pink and swollen, matching the color of her hardened nipples that tipped her full and gorgeously perfect breasts. He saw his finger prints on her hips, blooming blue and gray against her pale skin, and his teeth marks on the plump curve of her breasts. The sight both excited and shamed him, and once again he boggled that she let him touch her at all. She was out of breath too, and Sandor's eyes nearly didn't leave her heaving chest in time to see the anger flash in her eyes.

“I'm sorry little bird...I can't.” He looked pained, but determined, and a little bit angry, too.

Sansa was not deterred. She had already resolved to make tonight the night, and he had pulled away just as she was about to climax as well. She felt a little bit angry herself.

“You would deny me what I want most, my lord?”

“I am only a lowly dog, my lady, but everything I am is yours. I could never deny you anything. But I can't let you …” He shook his head and started again. “I can't allow ...” It seemed he couldn't even _say it_. He scowled and dropped his head, hiding his face from her.

Although Sansa called him “my lord” as a sign of her deep abiding love for him, when Sandor referred to her as “my lady,” Sansa knew he did it purposefully to put distance between them. She hated it when he did that, because it only meant he was feeling sorry for himself. What else could she possibly do to show him how much she wanted him? If she could grant him lands and lordship she would do it; she would love nothing more than to sit beside him at the high table, with him as her lord husband for all to see. But it was impossible. This was the only way they could be together, and it angered Sansa that he continued to resist it. This was the only way she could have her song, and she was determined to have it.

“You say you are but a lowly dog, my lord, yet you refuse my advances like the princeliest of knights.” Sansa spoke softly, but still managed to fill her voice with the chill of the deepest snows of Winterfell. She knew he would think she was mocking him, and she was glad for it. She wanted him to be as angry as she was.

She wasn't to be disappointed. Sandor looked neither defeated nor diminished, and his drunkenness seemed to have left him completely. His head shot up at her icy tone, and he glared at her through the curtain of his black hair.

“I thought that's what you've always wanted little bird,” his voice had lost its slow, sad cadence and was quiet, dark, and full of venom, mocking her as he used to back in King's Landing. “A princely, gallant knight to treat you like a delicate flower.” He couldn't believe she would be so cruel. He was trying so hard to do the right thing, for once, and she mocked him for it. Referring to him as a dog and a knight at the same time. What was she playing at?

“Don't pretend you don't know what I want, my lord. I believe I have been quite clear. Night after night, I have made it perfectly clear to you _exactly_ what I want.” Sansa had slunk off the bed, and now stood before him, close enough to touch. The top of her head barely reached his chin, but she did not cower before him. She stared up at him, defiance and anger and challenge in her beautiful blue eyes.

Sandor let out a harsh laugh, and shook his head disbelievingly. The highborn Lady of this household stood before him stark naked, _angry_ at him for not taking advantage of her. She was being so absurd! As he had so many times in the past, he wanted to shake her ridiculous notions out of her. He indulged her sometimes when she called him “my lord,” but he knew whatever was between them was no tragic, clandestine love affair between a chivalrous knight and a blushing maiden. The two of them were not star-crossed lovers; she was a lady and he was her faithful dog. Whatever use she got out of him was fine because it let him be close to her, but … seven hells! Couldn't she allow him even a shred of dignity?

His little bird...the only person alive who made him want to be a better man. Was it the will of the cruel gods to make her the one person who demanded he abandon his only convictions? He lied for his little bird regularly. He pledged his sword to her lord husband because she asked him to, even though he had no desire to fight the battles of others anymore. He took vows of the Faith to cleanse himself of guilt that had everything to do with her, and then broke those vows to be with her. Was there nothing she wouldn't take from him?

Sandor's anger swirled with confusion, disbelief, and more than a little drunken despair. He grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, not as hard as he could, but hard enough to make sure she paid attention.

“I do know what you want, little bird...you want to be mounted like a bitch in heat... that's what you are, aren't you? A wolf bitch who might be queen of this castle, but still likes to lie with the dogs. You want your dog to take you the way your precious husband won't. You...you're worse than any whore and crueler than any Queen! You say you care but you're just a pretty little _liar_!”

He pushed her onto the bed so hard she bounced a bit, but she didn't look the least bit concerned. She merely jumped back up again to stand right in front of him, poking her skinny finger into his chest.

“Is that your problem? I'm a _whore_ now, is that why you don't want me anymore? You were happy enough to steal a kiss and a song when I was a maiden only just flowered, but now that I'm a woman grown with _no maidenhead to steal_ as well, you'll have nothing to do with me!?”

She punctuated each word with a vicious jab to his chest, but he barely felt it. He stared at her in shock, as she accused him of wanting to _rape_ her. It was true the thought of taking her was never far from his mind, even back then when she was so young, but he would _never_. He hated himself for the mere thought. He had drowned his guilt in countless skins of wine. He had confessed to the Elder Brother and had dug endless graves in penance, just for thinking about it, just for _wanting_ her. He wasn't his monstrous brother Gregor, he wouldn't do that to any woman, least of all his little bird.

His shock wore off and twisted again into wrath, as he realized what she was trying to do. Seducing him hadn't worked all these many nights, so she was trying to goad him into taking her in anger. His little bird would actually make a rapist out of him, on top of stealing the very last of his dignity.

He growled and pushed her back onto the bed violently, following quickly and stalking up the bed on his hands and knees to look down on her, to trap her in the cage of his heavily muscled arms. Through the haze of his anger he realized he was still hard as stone, straining against the laces of his breeches, and the thought made him sick. He knew this woman would be the death of him. He was braced on his arms and about to tell her he'd figured out her little sadistic game, when both her hands flew up to touch him.

One hand grabbed at the waistband of his breeches, tugging at the laces, while her other small hand quickly slipped below. Her slim fingers were wrapped around his erection before he even knew what happened.

She grinned at him in triumph, the evil little wolf-bitch, and Sandor could only stare back at her, paralyzed by her boldness. She squeezed him a bit, and he groaned, closing his eyes at the incredible, and completely new, sensation of his little bird's hand touching his cock. In the split second his eyes closed and his body relaxed, she tugged hard on his pants with her other hand, and he collapsed on top of her.

Her long, perfect legs wrapped around his waist, and she started rubbing him in earnest, while working at the laces quickly with her other hand.

“Kiss me, Sandor. Please, kiss me...I'm sorry. I know you would never hurt me.” Sansa knew she might have pushed too hard, implying that he would ever rape anyone, but it had gotten him where she wanted him. Now she would make it up to him. “You love me, as I love you. Give me what I want, Sandor, _please_. Kiss me...”

The feeling of her warm hand working over his erection made thinking impossible. He felt her and smelled her all around him, and could do no more to resist. He was only a dog, and she was his lady, and he obeyed her.

Sansa had finally worked the laces open on his breeches, and continued to stroke him with one hand, while she wound the other in his hair, holding him close while they kissed feverishly. She used her toes to slowly pull his pants down his legs and finally off completely.

The feeling of his hot, heavy erection in her hand thrilled Sansa beyond anything she had anticipated for tonight. Of course she had touched other men this way, but it had never been anything like this. Sandor felt bigger...longer and thicker than both her husband and Petyr, and she couldn't wait to see it clearly...to feel every inch of him, in her hand, on her tongue, against her lips, and finally deep inside her.

She clung to him still, his cock in one hand and his long, black hair in the other. She refused to let go of him, and fiercely kissed him, not allowing him to pull away, not even for a moment to catch his breath. His large hands were once again gripping her painfully, one hand on her hip and another kneading her breast. Sansa reveled in the feeling. She loved making her Sandor lose control.

Finally he needed air to breathe, and wrenched himself away from her, realizing far too late that he had lost his pants completely.  Her deep kisses and desperately moving hand had clouded his mind more than any wine he'd ever had. Sandor flopped onto his back, lacking the strength to move further away from her, but needing the distance nonetheless. He had barely managed to take a few deep breaths before she was on him again.

This time, she sat directly over his erection, rubbing her wetness against him in a slow, torturous circle, while she ran her warm little hands through the black hair on his chest, caressing his hard muscles and tracing every scar she encountered.  She smiled at him, and he could only whimper and groan in response, a pained, desperate look on his face.

Sandor looked up at his little bird in all her naked glory, and knew he never stood a chance. She had somehow gotten his pants off, and he knew that without that barrier he wouldn't be able to resist her the way he had all those nights up until now. He really would belong to her completely, and she would get whatever she wanted from him.

Sansa bent over, and flipped her long hair to the side so she could access his mouth unencumbered. She kissed Sandor deeply, slowly, trying to show him how much she loved him. She knew how much he loved kissing her, and indeed they had spent many nights just kissing and touching each other lightly for hours. She loved those nights, but this night would be much better. She continued to grind on his erection, but slowly...she wanted a lot more than to just feel him rub against her...she wanted much more.  

As Sansa moved her mouth across his unburnt cheek on her way to kiss his neck, she brushed her face against his stubble and shuddered at the goosebumps that erupted all over her body. She wondered whether the hair that his cock nested in would feel scratchy against her cheek like his beard, or soft like the hair on his chest?

After sucking hard on his earlobe and wrenching a low groan from him, Sansa again snaked her hand slowly down his chest, reaching for his cock, while she whispered in his ear.

“Please don't push me away, Sandor...I _need_ you. Please.” Another kiss, a bit lower on his scratchy jaw this time. He brought his hands up to her waist, and she tensed for a moment, afraid that he would make her stop. But he only stroked her skin lightly, his palms ghosting over the curve of her hips, and said nothing.

Sansa looked up at his face, and saw his jaw clenching and his eyes tightly shut. She nearly crowed out loud, rejoicing that he had finally given in to her! Now for the best part...

Sansa slithered further down his body, kissing and licking her way over the mountains and valleys of his muscles, caressing as much of his rough, scarred skin as she could reach, until finally she was eye-level with his crotch, face to face with his glorious erection. She wasted no time wrapping both hands around him, enjoying the small noises escaping from him.

It was beautiful. So big in her small hands, and almost unbelievably hard, but covered in such soft skin, like silk draped snugly over an iron core. In the dim light of the bedchamber, she could see that it was a dark pink color, like rare venison, and Sansa felt her mouth water. She couldn't wait to taste him.

Sansa had never done this, but Alayne Stone was quite adept at it, a fact for which Sansa was very grateful. She had never wanted to do this with anyone but Sandor, and she so very badly wanted to do a good job, wanted to please him, to show him how much she loved him.

Sansa was breathless with excitement, and felt the heat and wetness gather at her core once again. Finally, her sweet Sandor had given in to her, and allowed her this one thing she wanted most in the world. She leaned in and rubbed his cock against her cheek, reveling in the feeling of his soft skin against hers, and nearly giggling at how his hair down there tickled her chin. She knew he would feel better, and smell better, than any other man. Doing this for him, with him, would completely erase all the other times such...encounters were forced on her. But Sansa didn't want to think about Alayne's obligations. She was anxious to find out how Sandor tasted.

She looked up at him again, wondering if he was watching, and was disappointed to see his eyes still closed. She wanted him to enjoy this as much as she was, and she wanted him to watch her worship his cock. Sansa stuck out her tongue and ran it from the base of Sandor's massive erection all the way to the tip, in a slow, firm lick, and Sandor gasped, and then exhaled sharply. Then she did it over and over again, keeping a slow, steady pace, sometimes letting her hands follow the path of her tongue, all the while keeping her eyes on his face, willing him to open his eyes and see how much she loved him.

His breath shortened, and his hands clutched at the bedclothes, his knuckles whitening in protest, and Sansa still licked and kissed and slurped on him like a delicious treat, sometimes allowing her eyes to fall closed in ecstasy. She knew she was making her own whiny, desperate noises, but she couldn't help it. She resisted the urge to touch herself, because she couldn't spare one of her hands from the important task of pleasing her lord.  

Although Sansa felt she could do this forever, it sounded like he needed only a little push to truly surrender to her. After a bit more licking and rubbing with her hands, she finally closed her lips around him, and sank her mouth as far down his hardness as she could reach, careful not to scrape her teeth on him. The sounds he made were the sweetest sounds she ever heard, and at long last, he opened his eyes to look down at her. A wild rush of emotions colored his expressions, and she was happy to see among them a sort of incredulous hope, as well as desperate lust. Sansa smiled in her victory.


End file.
